


A History In Jagged Parts

by MrsCox



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Business, Co-leadership, Ewwww something I wrote, F/M, Secret Santa, bellarke AU, hope you like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:52:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCox/pseuds/MrsCox
Summary: When Clarke thinks of Bellamy Blake, she thinks of all the times she's failed. When Bellamy thinks of Clarke, he thinks of the only girl he's ever loved. Somewhere along the way, something went wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

_**Six Months Ago** _

Clarke valued preparation. It was how she got through most of her life, ready for whatever life had to throw at her, and the rest of the time, she relied on an incredible poker face.

Clarke valued preparation, and for what it was worth, she was damn good at it. She imagined every scenario and came up with every conceivable option that would present itself. She couldn't count how many nights she'd spent bent over her living room table, a pencil clenched between her teeth as she made sure that nothing and no one could shake the foundation of calm she'd created for herself.

Which was why this day, the one she'd spent the better part of the last seven weeks planning for, was turning out to be pretty shitty.

"I…I'm not sure I understand," she said, fingers wrapping around the armrest of her chair and tightening. "I've worked here for the last four years and I'm certainly overqualified for the job."

Thelonious Jaha stroked his thumb along the length of his chin, surveying the young woman in front of him with a carefully guarded eye. He'd known Clarke since she was a child, had watched her grow into the person she was today. He remembered the easy curl of her smile and the cadence of her giggle, remnants of a joy that seemed to be missing as Clarke stared back at him with a grim expression, just barely restraining her anger.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, leaning back into his chair, "but the decision is final."

"When I was hired," she started, clearing her throat when her voice broke, "I was all but promised this job, _your_ job. Nothing's changed, I still work harder than anyone else out there, and that's all you can say? That 'the decision is final'?"

"With everything that's happened, your father would want – "

"With all due respect, do not speak for my father." Her knuckles ached, turning white around the edges as her grip tensed. "If he'd had a choice, he'd be sitting in that chair, and you'd be as far from his company as he could get you."

"Clarke, please."

"You'll have my letter of resignation in the morning." She stood, sweeping her hands along her skirt and praying that her wouldn't notice how they trembled.

"Well, I won't be accepting it," he said back just as smoothly. "I'm not asking you to remain in your current position, I just can't offer you CEO. But Vice Chair is nothing to scoff at."

"Of course not," she spat, gritting her teeth before the venom she felt boiling in her stomach could be released, "but after that? What then, will I be here ten years from now having the exact same conversation with someone else?"

"Clarke," she hated the way he said her name, how he sat there with that mask of calm, the same docile expression he must have worn when security had escorted her father from the building, "you're a smart girl."

"I'm not sure what my intelligence has to do with this meeting."

Thelonious's lips pursed. "You leave this company, and then what? You start at the bottom at Trikru Co. or Grounder Tech, work your way up and then end up in this same place, being told the same thing." He stood, stretching each long limb with the lazy confidence of a man without a care. "Vice Chair is the highest you can go here, but years from now when you're barely managing your own projects at some other cooperation, I'm sure you'll regret resigning." He cocked his head to the side, sizing up the thoughtful anger flitting across her face.

"I assume you're promoting Finn?"

"Mr. Collins is happy with his current position," he ignored her annoyed scoff, lowering himself back into the chair now that there was no risk of her walking out. "As for who will be taking my place, I'm sure you've heard of Bellamy Blake?"

She stiffened. "No, I don't think I have." More like, she made a concerted effort to ignore any and all news that as connected to that man. She didn't know how many years she spent listening to her father praise a man doing exactly what she was, but in his opinion, better.

She'd graduated summa cum laude from Harvard? He'd done that and in only three years.

She'd been headhunted by four companies? Well, he'd gotten five, and her father had felt it like a punch in the gut when Bellamy had issued a massive fuck you to all the major companies in the area and founded a start up of his own, The100 LLC. On the days she was feeling particularly young and pathetic, she devoured any piece of information she could find on him. And, staring at the picture of a young, awkward man with hair too long to be purposeful and a somber expression, she wondered if driving a knife through her chest would be more productive. Because everything she worked so hard to do, it came effortlessly to Bellamy. And she hated him for it.

Now five years later, if she heard any mention of his name, she all but shut down. It had made his stint on _Time_ magazine pretty uncomfortable for her, but there was no way she would be caught glaring at his undefined profile and the caption lauding him as the mind of the decade.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she started, "but Bellamy Bake has his own company, yes?"

Thelonious smiled, trying not to feel smug as he thought of what he'd accomplished. "He did, and now The 100 LLC. is the official subsidiary of Ark Industries. It's quite the achievement for my company," he paused, nodding to her, "our company."

She tilted her chin up, comprehension dawning on her. Of course, now it made sense. Thelonious, with his unyielding need for excellence, had been on edge ever since the rankings had come out last year. AI had only just managed to remain on the top, clinging to their spot as Bellamy along, with his unconventional team of scientists and engineers, came for them.

"He wanted a new challenge," Thelonious continued, offering up an explanation to the one woman who would never ask for it. "And now, with the breakthroughs The Hundred was making, AI will be the foremost corporation in biotechnology research and creation."

"I'm sure you assume a congratulations is in order," Clarke said, her voice, her head, her entire body, empty, "but I hope you understand when I say go fuck yourself."

Thelonious bit back a snort, finding himself reluctantly impressed as Clarke stood, the set of her shoulder and the clench of her jaw making it clear that there was nothing he could say to make this less painful for her. "In due time, Clarke, you'll see that this is for the greater good."

"I won't be able to attend your retirement dinner," she hiked her bag over her shoulder, marching over to the door. "Rot in hell."

**_..._ **

She'd been perfect. For her entire life, she'd been perfect. She'd given up her dreams, no matter how inconceivable integrating art and medicine seemed to be, the second she'd realized her family needed her. She sat through business class after business class, watching her friends kill themselves studying for the MCAT, and felt her life cave in around her. She ignored what she wanted, paint brushes and white coats, and became Clarke the businesswoman, desperate to protect her father's legacy. Clarke the girl who had turned her back on everything she was and became the best.

Just to be proven time and time again that her perfection wasn't good enough.

"What can I get you?" The bartender sidled up to her, a towel draped over his shoulder and a winning smile stretching over his lips. "Something pretty for the pretty lady?"

She rolled her eyes, dropping her bag onto the chair beside her with a scowl. "Scotch, neat." His eyebrows quirked up with surprise, but he nodded. "Fifty bucks in it for you if you don't try to speak to me." He swallowed back a chuckle, setting her drink down in front of her.

"Someone's had a hard day."

"And someone's trying to lose fifty dollars," she growled, tossing her drink back and letting the familiar burn wash over her. "Another one."

Around the third drink, she lost track of how long she'd been there. All she knew was that she was finding calm in the bottom of Johnnie Walker Gold Level, and God, did she need it. Because she had no idea how she was supposed to tell her mother, the perpetually disappointed Abby Griffin, that no, she would never be CEO of the company her father had poured his sweat, tears, and health into. And to add insult to injury, the man her father had actually wanted to hire would be sitting in the chair that was meant to be hers.

"Someone sitting here, Princess?"

She looked up, first at the rows of empty chairs and then at the man standing beside her. "Don't call me that," she sniffed, shaking her head to try and clear it. "And the bar is _literally_ empty."

"Which should make it all the more flattering." He slid into the chair, waving the bartender over. "Whatever she's having," he said to the bartender, glancing down at her empty glass, "make that two."

"I can order my own drinks," she slid upright, her posture the product of years of snide comments from her mother, "thanks."

He shot her a glittering smile, his gaze amused. "I guess more for me then." He took the two glasses, tapping them together with an audible clink, before bringing one to his lips. "Mom always told me to be wary of cute girls trying to get me drunk."

On any other day, she wouldn't engage. She knew better than to trust anyone, let alone a beautiful man with a silver tongue at a bar. But, she was a light weight during college, and her tolerance had only gone down since then.

"And how could I possibly be trying to get _you_ drunk on the alcohol that _you_ bought yourself?"

He arched an eyebrow, finishing each drink within seconds before dragging his hand over his mouth. "You get the fringe benefits?"

"However did I get so lucky?" She simpered, reaching for her bag and sliding onto shaky feet. "Maybe next time, find someone who actually wants you around."

Before she could get to far, his hand darted out and caught her around her wrist. "Ouch," he laughed, taking her insult in stride. "Don't you want to know why I'm drinking?"

"I've literally given every indication otherwise."

"I'm celebrating," he declared. His thumb was stroking over her skin, soft and rhythmic. Nice. It was distracting. "And I think you want to celebrate with me."

Celebrate what? The death of her career? The grave she hadn't realized she was digging until it was too late? The final way to fall short of her father's expectations?

"I'm mourning, not celebrating."

"Either way, we end the night drunk and in my hotel room," he stood, his grip on her tightening and his body invading her space. "So, you really want to leave?" She should go, that much was clear. This man, with his charming smile and twinkling eyes…he was nothing but trouble. And yet, she found herself brushing a curl of inky black hair from his forehead, leaning into him. And his answering smirk tumbled through her stomach, tugging her back into her chair and getting her to order another drink.

He waited for an hour, ever the gentleman as he pressed his hand to the small of her back and walked her up to his room.

She was glad he didn't overdo the small talk. She hadn't done this dance, the quick, messy hook-up and subsequent regret spiral, in a long time, and she needed to concentrate.

"Help yourself to anything in the mini bar," he slid his key card into the door, ushering her into the room with a slight nudge.

"I'm okay," she muttered, stumbling over to the bed and kicking off her shoes. "Besides," she cocked her head to the side, golden hair cascading over her shoulder, "I didn't exactly come up for a night cap."

"Right," he grinned, clearing the room in three languid strides. His hands fell to her hips, and before she could react, he pulled her forward, his mouth slanting over hers, bitter from the gin and scorching.

Clarke's eyes shuttered close, his grasp tightening as he lifted her onto the dresser. He swept his tongue over her bottom lip, and his fingers trailed over her neck, warm and rough and fucking amazing. The hem of her dress crawled up her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned, his hips thrusting forward and colliding into hers. Arching into his touch, her lips trailed down his chin and over to his neck, hot and insistent as she nipped at his skin.

"Are you on the pill?" He mumbled, his voice muffled as he bit at her ear.

It was embarrassing how quickly she was unraveling, each callused caress sending electricity buzzing through her skin. "What?" She panted, her head thrown back and her fingers curling through his hair.

"The pill?" He repeated, laughter coating his words and her zipper coming apart. His hips jerked up, and Clarke shuddered, aching all over. It had been so long since anyone had painted her skin with teasing, easy touches, and she needed him between her legs, doing more to help her forget than any glass of whisky ever could.

"No," she finally wheezed, shoving him away long enough to slip her dress from her shoulders. He glanced down at the silken puddle around her ankles, his bottom lip catching between his teeth before his gaze darted back up.

"Wait here," he blinked, pulling her in for one last lingering kiss. "Just, wait here."

"Yeah," she laughed despite herself, clinging to the warmth pooling in her belly as she dropped onto the bed.

"I just," his voice carried from the bathroom, "I have a condom. I know I have one." Clarke backed up to the headboard, pulling her legs up to her chest and propping her chin up onto her knee. He popped out of the bathroom and went over to his suitcase. "This doesn't happen." He threw a shirt over to the bed, letting out a frustrated grunt. "I'm in the process of moving, and somehow, _somehow_ , I didn't bring any protection."

"Really," she arched an eyebrow, "because it's definitely the first on my packing list." He peeked up at her, devilish intent glimmering in his dark gaze before he climbed to his feet, frantic energy buzzing from him.

"I'm gonna run to the store," he said slowly, the corners of his mouth perking up as she scooted close to him, "and you're gonna stay right here," she straightened, and he dragged his thumb over her lip, his skin burning on her cheek, "looking like that. Okay?"

Clarke opened her mouth, to speak, to kiss him, she didn't know. And as her attention snagged on the ID that had fallen from his pocket during his search, she realized that she'd never know. Because the giddiness that had been bubbling in her stomach burst, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable and stupid.

So, so _stupid._

Her smile fell away as she bent to the ground, clenching the piece of plastic between her two fingers. "What is this?"

He felt his nose twitch, wondering what exactly made her cool so quickly. "What? You've never seen an ID before?"

She couldn't breathe, not with the imprint of his hands on her skin and, God, the fact that she'd let him _touch_ her. She scrambled back, her vision narrowing to a point as her chest heaved, desperate for air.

"Clarke?"

Head darting up, she rubbed at her neck, her panic merging into anger as the world sharpened. "You know who I am?"

His face blanched and Clarke took grim satisfaction in the quick flash of guilt he tried and failed to wrestle away from his expression. "Clarke…"

"Bellamy Blake," she spat, lobbing the ID at him and wishing that it could have done damage to his stupidly handsome face. "I'm an idiot."

"No, wait," he lurched forward, reaching for her arm but just missing. She was too quick, flitting around the room and grabbing at her things.

She pulled on her dress, ignoring the zipper and shoving her feet into her heels. "You knew who I was. Why I was in that bar. You had me _celebrating_ the most humiliating moment of my life."

Bellamy went over to the armchair and lowered himself down, combing his fingers through his hair. "Not at first. You were a hot, sad girl and I was attracted to you. It didn't take long for me to recognize, but I just thought – "

"That you wouldn't have to deal with fucking me right after fucking me over until your first day on the new job?"

"Clarke, it's just business." She stilled, her arm limp in the air and rage, viscous and all-consuming, flooding through her veins.

"Just business," she repeated. "You stole my job."

"Hardly your job if they hired me, Princess." He shot back, his jaw ticking. "Look, I get it, you thought Daddy's little girl would be a shoe-in for CEO, but I built my company from the ground up, and that's what AI needs."

"Don't you dare tell me what my father's company needs." She growled, her teeth bared and her fists balled at her sides.

"It's not your father's company anymore," he cried. "And if you can't work with me because of that, well…"

Clarke clung to the steel that had gotten her this far, letting it square her shoulders and leak into her voice. "Two hours ago, I would have resigned. Two hours ago, I would have walked away, but now, fuck you."

"That you're resignation?"

She glanced back at him, at the superior smirk and lazy confidence of a man who always got what he wanted. "That's a see you on Monday."

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

"You can't just summon me." Clarke seethed, marching into Bellamy's office with a memo clenched in her fist. "You want an appointment, you can talk to Harper."

Bellamy looked up from his computer screen, eyebrows furrowing at the distraction. "I would have, except for the fact that I don't have to." He sighed, massaging the spot on his temple that only saw action when he was stressed. "I outrank you."

"In title only." Clarke replied, her foot tapping a staccato beat against the floor as she waited. And waited. And waited still. "You needed something?" She finally asked, annoyed with herself for breaking this battle of wills.

"Yes," he pushed away from the table, "you have plans this weekend?"

She stiffened, considering him with a guarded eye. "I was going to go see my parents." He cocked his head to the side, the picture of polite attentiveness, and perched at the edge of the armchair closest to her. "My father's been anxious for an update on our work."

"And he'll get one, the next time we're featured in TQ," he pulled a ticket out, waving it underneath her nose, "you're canceling."

"Excuse me?"

"There's a conference down in Santa Clara," he crossed one leg over the other, "and we're going."

"You mean you're going?"

"They invited us both. Something about wanting the face of the company," he nodded to himself, "and their second in command."

Clarke rocked back onto her heels, sucking in what should have been a calming breath as she tried to take stock of the anger pulsing through her. She would _not_ be paraded around, an empty headed blonde to stand by his side and make him look good. "Take Raven."

"Raven isn't the best at small talk."

"You mean Raven won't let you drag her around like some idiotic prop in a cheap ballroom with the people trying to steal our business."

"Pretty much sums it up," he stood, stretching up into his full height and arching an eyebrow up at her. "And as I've reminded you multiple times, if you have a problem with that, you're resignation is more than welcome. I'm sure they'll be happy over at Tondy."

Something hot and furious lit in the center of Clarke's stomach, a fire that threatened to devour her whenever she allowed herself to really consider the mess that was her life. And that fire, it would take Bellamy down with her, she was certain of that. Because late at night, when the weight of it all crushed down on her chest and she could barely catch her breath, his taunting, cloying voice was always right there, adding to the ever present chorus that reminded her that she couldn't do anything to fix any of her problems.

"Nothing from the Princess," he smiled, smoothing his hand through his hair, "today must be my lucky. You think I should play the lotto?" He waited for an answer they both knew would never come. "We leave tomorrow, so get to the airport for noon." He moved back over to his desk, balancing a pen on his thumb before batting his gaze back over to her. "And Clarke?"

"Yes. Bellamy," she ground out, begging the last of her self-restraint to hold on, just until she got out of his office.

"Close the door on your way out."

She blinked, gaping at him as he began typing, his attention already back on his work, as if she'd never existed. She thought of throwing back a quick comment, something barbed and poisonous, but instead found herself stumbling from his office, making sure to close the door gently behind her, and then snatching up her purse.

"Clarke," Harper called after her, doe-bright eyes wide as she hurried after her boss, "um, you have a meeting with Miller from security and –"

"Cancel it," Clarke jammed her thumb into the elevator button, resisting the urge to rub her hand along her throat. The very throat that was seconds from closing, the recycled air of their rooftop office suddenly stifling. "Cancel the rest my day."

"But Clarke," the elevator dinged open, and she staggered in, forcing her expression into something firm and unyielding.

"Harper," she said slowly, "the chancellor of the city could be coming in to see me, and I would still have you cancel it. So, how about instead of questioning me, you do your job?"

"Right," Harper shrunk back, her face stricken as if Clarke had hit her, "of course, sorry." Clarke felt some of her rage ebb, remorse taking its place as the door slid shut.

"Great," she murmured, pressing a palm to her forehead and sinking back against the wall. "Really fantastic."

**_…_ **

Not one of the patrons of Tondc Tavern blinked an eye as Clarke thrust the doors open to the bar, flooding the usually dimly lit room with early afternoon light. She pulled her bag in tighter to her side, going over to the bar and sitting before she could remind herself that she was about to partake in some heavy binge-drinking. On a Wednesday. Because if she did, she would have to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't be anymore pathetic if she tried.

"Well, well," a silken voice filled the air, breaking apart of the low buzz coming from either the busted television set or the man dozing at the corner table to her right. "You're a couple hours early."

Rolling her eyes, Clarke bit back a groan. "It's been a long day."

Octavia Blake leaned forward, the tips of her hair, freshly dyed to match the blue of her eyes, torn between curiosity and concern. "It's one."

"Exactly." She shot her a tight smile, watching as Octavia reached behind her with a practiced ease that ended with a glass of tequila in Clarke's hand and the tension between her shoulder blade unfurling.

"What he'd do now?" Octavia asked quietly, folding her arms across her chest and grimacing as Clarke threw her head back and drank.

Even though Clarke ached to complain, to gripe and moan and tear at the walls until the rest of the world wore the scars of her frustration, the words couldn't seem to come. Even though Octavia, with her wicked grin and wild, pulsing energy, was the first friend she'd made after joining AI, it didn't take away from the fact that the root of Clarke's problems and her friend were connected by the promise that came with the same last name. It was no secret that part of the reason Bellamy had been so eager to take over her father's company was to be closer to his baby sister. It didn't matter that Octavia didn't want anything to do with him, because he would eventually win her over. Just like he did their board, their investors, and her own family.

So, instead of answering, Clarke nodded down to her empty glass. "You're sort of a shit bartender." Octavia threw her head back and laughed, relief ringing in the sound as she poured Clarke another drink. "I would say keep them coming, but shouldn't that be implied?"

"You have a problem, you can take it up with the owner."

"Is that before or after he crawls out from underneath your sheets?" Clarke shot back with a smirk. Octavia ducked her head, hiding a blush behind a curtain of hair.

"Lincoln's actually meeting with Indra," she said, busying herself with the row of wet tumblers sitting on the bar. "Something about a potential investor."

"That he definitely found while he was all tangled up in your sheets," Clarke added, narrowly dodging the damp towel Octavia lobbed at her.

"Found what?" Both girls turned, Clarke's lips curling into a reluctant grin as Raven Reyes hopped into the nearest bar stool. "And why are we throwing projectiles?"

"Just Clarke being a _child_ ," Octavia shoved a beer at Raven, "ignore her."

Raven and Clarke shared a quick look, mischievous amusement lighting on Raven's face as she took a quick swig of her drink. "Lincoln?"

"I'm guessing the sex's extra dirty," Clarke confirmed with a quick bob of her head, "and that's why she's being so squirrely."

"I hate you both," Octavia declared, her mouth ticking down into a frown, "like, a lot." She glowered at them one last time before storming away, muttering underneath her breath, something about nosy friends who insist on drinking for free.

Once she was gone, Clarke could feel some of her energy drain away. It was impossible not to absorb some of Octavia's spirit, especially on days like today where she needed something to keep her going. But now, with Raven pegging her with a knowing look and her conversation with Bellamy still drilling around her head, she sagged forward.

"Harper called me, said you pulled a disappearing act after seeing the bossman."

"Do you really have to call him that?"

Raven quirked an eyebrow. "He still the boss?"

"Yes." Clarke stared longingly at her beer, debating the merits of getting sloppy drunk in the middle of the day.

"Well then yeah."

"I think I need to quit," Clarke blurted out, surprising herself as she turned to look at her friend. "Today, it just…it felt like the last bit of what I could take."

Raven frowned, taking in the slump in Clarke's shoulders and the way she seemed so _defeated_. Clarke Griffin was a lot of things, bossy and anal and a cheater whenever they played Monopoly, but she was never one to quit.

"I was standing in the office that should have been mine, and suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I looked around and it felt so natural to leave, to turn my back on this place that had always felt like my tomb." Clarke stopped, catching her bottom lip between her teeth before the words she never dreamed of uttering could cause more damage.

"What happened?" Raven asked, leaning forward. "We always knew Bellamy was a dick, but this seems different." She blanched, her muscles going rigid as her thoughts darkened. "Did he do something?"

"No," Clarke shook her head, taking a break from her self-pity long enough to wait for the alarm on Raven's face to fade away, "it was the same as any other day. I came into work and he made me feel useless." Making sure Octavia was still out of earshot, she quickly told Raven about her meeting with Bellamy, taking grim satisfaction at the anger that radiated from Raven when she finished her story.

"You should quit," Raven hissed. "You do more for this company than he ever could, and if he thinks he can treat you like some bimbo he can pull out when he's bored, he's even more of a fucker than I thought." She brightened, bumping her knee against Clarke's. "We could leave together, start our own company."

Clarke smiled, although it felt more like a grimace. "I don't know anything about start-ups, and you really want to abandon all your projects?"

"I'd take them with me," Raven replied with a shrug. "And you can learn. There's probably a documentary or how-to channel on YouTube made just for this."

"As nice as that sounds, anything you invent while working for AI belongs to AI. Belongs to Bellamy, so you'd be leaving everything behind." She could see the exact moment Raven deflated. "And even if I did quit, where would I go?"

Raven lifted her chin, an idea forming as Clarke huffed out a bitter chuckle. "Wait," she said, brushing her hand along Clarke's wrist, "this trip he's dragging you on, it's to some fancy tech thing?"

"A conference, yeah," eyebrows furrowing, Clarke stared warily at Raven, "why does it matter? I'm not going."

"Yes you are," Raven bolted up, hiding a wince the best she could at the jolt of pain that slithered up her leg, "we both are."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah," Raven nodded, "think about it. You won't have to find a place to go if the companies are lining up to steal you." Pressing her hands to the bar, she arched forward, scanning for Octavia and letting out an impatient sigh when her search came up empty. "Bye O," she called, her mind already moving to the weekend. "You let it slip that you're thinking of a 'change of pace' or something else equally as stupidly vague, and everyone will be dying to snatch you up."

"Raven," Clarke grabbed at her friend, just missing as Raven breezed past her and over to the door. "Raven, wait." She caught up to her, barely managing to keep pace as Raven darted around the people on the sidewalk and across the street. "No one's going to want me if they have their own Vice Chair."

Raven whipped around, nearly smacking Clarke with her ponytail. "That's where I come in. I've been talking to Wells, and it turns out I'm sort of a hot commodity." She rolled her eyes, shoving her hands into her pocket. "And I'm more than willing to be a bargaining chip."

"Raven –"

"No, Clarke," Raven cried, lurching forward and clutching Clarke's hands. "This can work! You deserve better than to go to some office you hate to work with a douche bag with a tiny brain and even tinier dick. And I'm over AI anyway. Wick always smells like tuna fish."

"But – "

"No buts," Raven stepped in closer, her expression pleading. "You're on a fucking ledge Clarke, and I'm ready to jump whenever you are. But if you want to keep killing yourself for a man and a company that don't care, count me out."

Clarke sucked in a breath, waiting for the familiar crush of anxiety against her chest. But, it never came. Instead, she glanced up at the building that had been a home without every truly welcoming her, and then at the watch around her wrist, the shackle reminding her of a promise she'd been too young and too naïve to make.

And then she grinned, the first of the day that didn't feel forced. The first in a long time that made her feel truly and incredibly free.

"Fine," she said, those four letters monumental as they tumbled from her lips. "Okay, yeah. Let's do this."

"Yes," Raven pumped a fist into the air, launching her body into Clarke's in an attempt at a hug that nearly sent them careening to the ground. "God, this is going to be epic."

Clarke ducked underneath Raven's arm, nudging her back to their building. "Hey Rave?"

"Sup, babe?"

"You talk to Wells without me a lot?"

Raven stumbled, just a little, just enough to give a part of herself away. "I think that might be a story for another day."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Bellamy Blake: A History_ **

Bellamy had only cared about three things his entire life. The first was his baby sister. With the kind of childhood he and Octavia had had, it was impossible not to cling to the only real family he'd ever known. He'd written his mother off during one of those moments that he fought to protect the parts of his heart that hadn't shattered just yet. How could he love a woman who had left him at the age of ten with nothing but a backpack at his feet and a six-year-old attached to his hand? Or better yet, how could he forgive her when she'd said she loved him, right before pulling out a cigarette and walking away from them for the last time?

Foster care had been rough, especially for a kid like him. Already grown up with a temper that had frayed with every night that his alcoholic father tossed his mother from one side of the room to the other, no one wanted him. Octavia, with her chubby cheeks and crystal blue eyes, would have done alright. Would have found a family that could have shown her what it meant to be wanted and safe, if not for him. He was baggage, the rocks around her ankle that were making her sink even as she fought to break the surface, to breath again.

They fell into a routine relatively early. Bounced from house to house, the next just a little worse than the last, and when it became clear that they only really had each other, Bellamy would become what she needed. If Octavia was hungry, he stole food. If she was scared, he was her superhero, staying up through the night until she felt better, even though it meant falling asleep in class. If someone looked at her wrong, which happened more and more as she grew, he was her bodyguard. He had the scars to prove it, the ones on his back deeper than the rest after their third foster father had proven to be as big a jackass as he was a pedophile.

But when he finally aged out and took custody of her, he wore each late night and painful moment with pride. Because Octavia was okay. She was bright and happy and bubbled over with joy, even in the darkest times. She babbled about school over bowls of ramen and the rare piece of chicken when he could afford it. And she danced around their tiny one bedroom apartment, singing to the radio with a beautifully off-key voice that never knew real pain. She made it that much easier to wake up in the morning, providing the incentive that minimum wage as a janitor never could.

He supposed he should be thankful though for the thirteen hours a day he donned a jumpsuit and cleaned up other people's messes. Without that job, he'd never have found the reason he was put on this earth, the second thing that he tucked away in his heart and never let out.

It started as a fluke, helping some man in the lobby fix a bug on his eighteen hundred dollar laptop between shifts. Bellamy had never considered himself particularly smart, but he never truly had to test that theory. Information just clicked for him, slotting into his brain as it thirsted for the capital of West Bengal, Kolkata, or the sequence of ones and zeros that comprised the code for the computer in the public library, the only one he could afford to use. When school became less of a challenge, he started messing around with anything he could find, tinkering until he knew a machine inside and out. That knowledge came in handy the next time he saw that man and his malfunctioning phone.

Soon, Mr. Griffin was stopping him to discuss technology and philosophy, and during those few moments, Bellamy forgot that he was an eighteen year old with no future. He was once again the kid in the back of the class that knew the answer, but this time he raised his hand. For those few moments, he didn't need to worry about putting food on the table or how he would buy Octavia new clothes for school and also get the car heater fixed as the temperature dropped. For those few moments, he was the kind of guy he always wanted to be, the kind he could respect.

Still, he didn't expect anything to come of it until six months in when he got a call from a Harvard alum, asking about potential interview times.

"I didn't ask for this," he said one day, trying to sound like a man even as he shrank back like the boy he was underneath Mr. Griffin's impatient gaze.

"Which is why the only acceptable answer is thank you," Mr. Griffin sniffed, "now let's see about getting you a suit."

Bellamy never knew why Mr. Griffin decided to see something in him besides the guy who mopped his office twice a week, but months later as he stood at the gates of Harvard University, an acceptance letter in his back pocket and Octavia's hand in his, he couldn't be more grateful. It would be hard, with his sister half way across the country living with some aunt they'd never heard of, and two jobs just to keep him afloat, but that thing in his heart, the desperate ache for as much as he could learn, it thudded with anticipation.

Between daily phone calls with his sister and time spent with the family he found at Harvard among the thoughts of great men and the bottles of vodka shared with greater men still, he didn't think he had room for anything more in his overcrowded chest. That was until Mr. Griffin called him up his sophomore year and invited him for Thanksgiving dinner. With Octavia preparing for her SATs, he'd been gearing up for a lonely holiday, so the idea of getting away from school was too good to pass up.

The minute he stepped into the Griffin's mansion, he knew things were about to become complicated. Mrs. Griffin, with her severe expression and pristine wardrobe, didn't seem to take to him the way her husband had. Instead, she cringed whenever Mr. Griffin boasted about his "protégé", only speaking long enough to call their daughter into the dining room for dinner.

And, with the first glimpse of pale blonde hair, Bellamy felt his heart revolt. Because he had everything he could want, with his sister, and school, and even Mr. Griffin's continuing generosity. To ask for more would be selfish, and he'd learned a long time ago that selfishness was a privilege he couldn't afford. Yet, when the girl, no woman, with her nose buried in a book, socks mismatched and the sleeve of her shirt slipping down her arm, looked up at him, he was a goner. The space between her eyebrows crinkled as she considered him, and Bellamy realized he never wanted to kiss any one spot more. She opened her mouth to speak, and Bellamy allowed himself to drift into a world where she would ask his name and he would dazzle her with poetry. In this world, he would spend the rest of his life proving himself to her. He would buy her a house like this, and it wouldn't be covered in white, but colorful and warm, filled with Octavia's laugh and the squeal of children.

Just as he was reminding himself to calm the fuck _down_ , her mother called her to the table and her curiosity disappeared behind the words of _Don Quixote_. Bellamy could pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Clarke. It was when, with her fork dangling from her lips, she'd scoffed at something her father said, so loud and blatantly disrespectful that the dinner seemed to screech to a halt. She'd straightened immediately, embarrassed to have been caught, but didn't apologize, instead arching an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

Unfortunately for him, by the end of the dinner, Bellamy could tell exactly when Clarke began to hate him. He catalogued each flinch and shiver of disgust as Mr. Griffin sang Bellamy's praises. And he saved every moment when it seemed she had something to say, only to be shut down by her exacting mother and perpetually disappointed father. It only took a few minutes to see that Clarke wasn't enough, especially not when she was held up against the charity case Mr. Griffin had gifted an ivy league education. Didn't matter that Bellamy had graduated third in his class, and had been working since he was old enough to know what to say to people who needed cheap help under the table. No, he was Mr. Griffin's to pull out and wave around, the result of benevolent wealth and accomplishment, and the weapon he used to keep his daughter in line.

Bellamy would have hated himself too if he was Clarke. Hell, he hated himself a little anyway.

It was because of this dinner that he cut ties with Mr. Griffin. He could never pay back the kindness he'd been shown, misguided intentions aside, and he would always be grateful, but he wouldn't spend the rest of his life as a show pony for a rich white dude trying to impress other rich white dudes. He just hoped that he gained back a tiny bit of Clarke's respect, if for nothing more than defying her family in a way that she obviously longed to, but never could.

With that decision, suddenly Bellamy wasn't content to sit in classes or work through equations. It was one thing to see all these concepts in the theoretical, but he wanted to get his hands dirty, wanted to have something that was _his._ So he took summer classes and doubled up on classes. It nearly killed him, but come the spring of his junior year, he was ready to graduate. He didn't tell Mr. Griffin, although he did find a check in the mail, congratulations scrawled across the envelope. It felt good to rip it up.

Soon, he and Octavia were back in New York, and it was like no time had passed. They spent nights eating ramen in a one bedroom apartment, his computer glowing late into the night as he researched start-ups. And Octavia, who decided to defer Brown for a year, stayed up with him, although she didn't sing anymore. And she never danced, her each smile pained. He wasn't sure how to bridge the gap between them that had appeared over the past few years, but he would figure it out, just after he came up with a name for his future company.

Faster than he thought possible, he and some friends from school were holed up in a dingy warehouse, staring dumbly at the cover of _Tech Quarterly_. More specifically, at the picture of _him_ on _Tech Quarterly_. He wasn't sure how it had happened, only that a year into this project, he'd come up with a good idea. And then another one. And then another one, tech that had people excited. They were calling him the future of biotechnology, the man who would change the face of a billion dollar industry. His friends called him a genius. His sister still just called him Bell, when she bothered to call him anything.

Octavia wouldn't be going to Brown. She wouldn't be going to any school, if any of those late-night arguments were to be trusted. Somewhere along the way, a fissure had formed, and instead of bothering to fix it, he'd tunneled deeper into his work. She, who'd never had anyone but Bellamy in her world, suddenly had no one. No one to talk to about the terribly lonely nights in Arizona, where she wept for her mother and her brother and a family that she would never have. Or how she thought she'd been in love until it turned out that he'd just wanted to take advantage of her naïve smile and earnestness. Or the day she'd held her own hand and counted to ten with the woman between her legs urging her to breath, that it would be over soon as if a decision so huge wouldn't stay with her for the rest of her life. He'd found a family, and she'd lost hers.

So, five years later, when people asked him why he decided to merge with Ark Industries, selling his astonishingly successful start-up to the highest bidder for a larger office, he said it was because he wanted to get his sister back. That a text every holiday light on words and heavy on emojis wasn't enough and it was time to be a family again. It wasn't because of the thought that was always there, teasing him with blonde hair that had smelled of strawberry shampoo, bright grey-ish blue eyes and a challenge in the set of a willfully defiant jaw. At twenty-nine, it was ridiculous to hold onto the idea of a love he'd found ten years ago, but…

A part of him wondered. Her father's company, with her very own seat on the board. Maybe if she saw the man he grew to be, saw that he'd lived up to his unspoken promise to prove himself worthy, she would give him a chance.

Who would have thought that with one night at a bar, he could have ruined it all before it could even begin?

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

"What's Reyes doing here?" Bellamy asked, plucking Clarke's carryon from the floor and shoving it into the overhead compartment.

"I needed a book," she growled, rolling her eyes as she elbowed him to the side. "Next time, how about you save the chivalry for someone who doesn't already consider you a pig."

"No fair, C," Raven propped herself up the armrest, oblivious to the stream of people trying to get past her and to their own seats, "that rules out all of the east coast…and the west coast…and one of the bible belt states, but God help me, I can't remember which one."

"Funny," he droned, his eyes going back over to Clarke just as that spot between her eyebrows crinkled. She was either holding back a laugh, or trying very hard to keep from scolding him. Knowing the way she felt, it was probably the latter. "You didn't answer my question," he said, dropping into his seat.

"Reyes," Raven cooed, "can speak for herself. I happened to have some vacation time, so I figured I'd give Clarke a break from you." She nodded expectantly to where he sat. "And, this is sort of awkward, but I'm commandeering your seat."

"What?"

Clarke glanced down at him, amusement shining in her eyes, and it nearly knocked the breath from his chest. "Did I not tell you? Raven can't do middle seats, so she had the airline switch her couch seat with her husband's business class one."

He resisted the impulse to scratch his forehead, careful not to show his confusion. "Her husband?"

"Hi, I'm Mrs. Blake," Raven extended a hand, fluttering her lashes before curling her fingers into a fist and bringing them down against his shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind. My leg's starting to hurt and we're sort of holding up traffic."

Bellamy glanced behind them, first to the aggravated looks on the flight attendants face and then the more hostile expressions on the passengers trying to worm their way around Raven. "This is ridiculous."

"No," Clarke said sweetly, "it's the way things are gonna go. You wanted me on this idiotic trip, now I'm here, and I want to sit next to Raven."

With a grunt and a sneer, Bellamy pushed up from the seat, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and wishing she didn't have to look so damned adorable wearing that smug little smirk. "This isn't over."

"No," Raven nodded thoughtfully, "it's not. It's more like way _over_ there, sort of by the bathroom, and between the fat dude and the lady with the baby."

Clarke slipped into her seat, draping one leg over the other. "Enjoy your flight," she called, eyes already shut and that smirk, the one doing riotous things to the pit of his stomach, firmly in place.

The flight, between a man intent on slumping against his shoulder and a teething, screeching baby, went by as slowly as he thought it would. It didn't help that this chance, the one that felt very much like the last one he'd be getting for a while, was slipping away. He'd thought that maybe if he could get him and Clarke away from the office and the near constant reminder of what he'd taken from her, that maybe… just maybe. But she was wielding their top mechanic like a weapon, and if this weekend would be anything like the past six hours, he'd wasted their time and his money. By the time they landed, his grip on his annoyance was loose at best.

"Have a good flight?" Raven asked pleasantly, dropping a pair of sunglasses over her eyes as they made their way to the baggage claim.

"You're trouble, Reyes."

"And don't you forget it," she nodded to Clarke before hurrying over to a pair of purple suitcases.

Clarke folded her arms across her chest, her head cocked to the side. "How could she possibly pack so much?" She wondered aloud, watching as Raven flitted over to the other side of the conveyor belt. "We're here for two days."

"And those three suitcases I had to haul out of the town car?" Bellamy asked, peeking at her from the corner of his eye. She let out a reluctant chuckle, a rough unfamiliar sound that buzzed like electricity across his skin.

"It was surprisingly difficult trying to decide what shoes to bring."

"So you bought them all?"

She scoffed, brushing her hair away from her forehead. "More like the top ten percent."

"Right," he picked at the button of his jacket, the corner of his mouth ticking up as she fought back a smile. "You want to go grab her before she ends up on the no-fly list?" They both looked back over to Raven, who was glaring over at a TSA agent.

"And all I'm saying is that if you touch my bag again, then you'll be spending the better part of the weekend looking for someone to reattach your hand!"

"Ma'am," he began, gesturing behind him to a pair of burly security guards, "I won't be spoken to – "

Clarke came up behind her, setting her hands down on Raven's shoulders and pushing her to the side. "Sorry, long flight, low blood sugar." Her grip tightened as Raven stiffened, her scowl deepening as the TSA agent hit them with a look heavy with condescending disapproval. "Raven," she hissed, "let's _go._ "

"Useless piece of – "

"Raven!" With a muted growl, Raven allowed herself to be guided away, her suitcases trailing behind her and her muscles twitching from the promise of a fight. "Think we can go anywhere without you making all these friends?"

"Maybe when I'm dead," she snorted. "And now that I think about it, my blood sugar does feel pretty low. How about we grab something to eat?" She nodded to Bellamy. "On the boss's dime, of course."

"Of course," he sighed, ushering them both out the airport and into the awaiting town car. "Shitty flight, stupidly expensive hotel and what will most likely be a crappy lunch. Great way to start the trip."

**_…_ **

"You've got to be kidding me," Clarke murmured, her hotel key card clenched between her fingers and the bit of calm that she'd found during the flight disappearing. "You booked one room."

Bellamy drew his hand along the length of the mahogany island that sat in the center of the living room they would be calling home for the next two days. "It's a suite, actually."

"And it's pretty nice," Raven added, throwing herself onto the couch and snatching up the remote. "Here I was thinking you would have gotten a place near the closest strip club."

"Suite or not, there's only one bedroom," Clarke poked her head back out, glaring over at Bellamy as he settled beside Raven. "There's only one _bed_."

"And I'm out," Raven pushed up from the couch, giving Clarke an apologetic smile as she walked over to the door. "The last thing I need is to listen to you two go at it. Some of us actually need our beauty sleep."

"Must have missed a couple hours then," Bellamy shouted as he flipped through the channels.

"You're a riot, Blake," Raven hiked her backpack over her shoulder, "really. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard." She rapt her knuckles against the wall. "You guys need me, I'll be over in Well's room. Clarke, you should swing by. Bellhead, bite me."

The door swung shut behind her. "I think I'm growing on her." Bellamy said with a grin, his smile dimming at the sight of Clarke's grim expression.

"There's only one bed."

"That's what the futon's for," he stretched out, an arm thrown over the back of the couch and his ankles crossed over the coffee table.

Clarke planted herself in front of the television, pulling each of her heeled shoes off and throwing them at him. "You didn't force me across the country to make me sleep on a _pullout_."

"The floor then," he shrugged, cocking his head to the side. "The carpet seems pretty comfortable."

"Bellamy."

"Clarke," he shot back, "it's one night, and you're blocking the TV."

"And you're not listening," she fumed, her chin jerking up insolently as he stood and ambled over to her.

"Move."

"Get another room," she growled back, scowling up at him. He met her glare with one of his own, wondering belatedly if she felt it too. The tension pulling taut between them, tugging him closer to her. "This one's mine."

"You decide that, did you?" He chuckled. "Because the only one getting out of this room is you, so that I can find something decent on TV."

"Make me."

He felt his eyebrows rocket up, but Bellamy Blake had never been one to shy away from a challenge. Not even when everything about the woman in front of him screamed danger, to proceed with caution.

"Don't mind if I do," he huffed, wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her up from the ground.

"Bellamy," she shrieked, her legs wheeling in the air as he carried her past the couch, "put me down!"

"You asked for this, Princess," he dug his fingers into her side and she yelped, batting at the hair on her face as dumbed her on the couch. "Maybe next time remember you're a hundred pounds soaking wet before you go around making threats."

"And maybe next time remember I'm a fucking black belt," she hissed, launching up and whipping his legs out from underneath him with a well place kick. He didn't have time to think of a clever retort as he fell, his hand darting out and latching onto her wrist.

"Fuck," she hissed, sounding breathless as she landed on him with a groan, her hands pressed against the floor and her mouth hovering over his. "You're a real asshole," she mumbled, her eyes darting down just long enough for mutinous hope to spring up in his chest.

"Sorry, who drop-kicked who?" She hadn't moved yet, her stomach moving over his as she tried to catch her breath. Why hadn't she moved yet?

"You deserved it." His eyes were grey, the type that seemed to hold every color imaginable. She'd never noticed it, but then again, she'd never let herself get this close, and now she was paying the price for it, because she was getting lost, for heartbeats or years, she was falling into his gaze and didn't know how to get it.

A smirk moved over his lips, sending her brain firing at a rebellious speed. "The carpet is comfortable," he purred, "I guess I was right."

And that was her cue. She shook her head, scolding herself for thinking those quiet moments, where his smile and his charm, had been real. She pushed herself upright, a blush warming her cheeks. "What time is the dinner tonight?"

He bent his arms underneath his head. "Nine."

"Great, don't talk to me until then," she whipped around, her shoes forgotten as she marched into the hallway, ignoring the sound of her name on his lips as he called after her. She wouldn't let him get to her, not on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in California. She was young, her friends were a few floors away, and by the end of the weekend, she'd be free. So, fuck Bellamy Blake.

* * *

**_Wells Jaha: A History_ **

Wells had spent most of his life running after Clarke Griffin. It was hard not to, especially when she aimed that smile at you, the one that screamed of playful destruction. When they were kids, she could get him to do whatever she wanted with a few silver-coated words, but he never minded. Half the time, he wished he was the one who thought to stage their own production of Wicked, or launch a mini prom for all the kids in their neighborhood. His best memories were tied up in her, even though her smile seemed to dim the older they got. Instead of painting portraits and shouting the dirtiest lyrics she could find, she burrowed deeper into her books, her parents' expectations weighing on her back just a little heavier each day.

So, when it came time to choose colleges, he was determined to apply to the same schools as her. He would bring back the girl who had doubled as his best friend and first love before she disappeared completely underneath serious Clarke, studious Clarke. The Clarke that hid red-rimmed eyes behind benign smiles and an incredible brain.

He wasn't sure what had hurt more, the fact that he didn't get into Harvard, or the relief that he could tell she felt. Somewhere along the way, he'd become another person she was determined not to disappoint. So, he kissed her goodbye, promised to call her when he got set up at Cornell, and swore to himself that he would get her back.

They moved in together after graduation, Wells searching for a job in finance while Clarke worked tirelessly at AI, moving up through her family's company thanks to a tireless effort that only seemed to grow when people couldn't see past her last name. Slowly, so slow that he barely noticed, she started to change back. Her laugh, one of his favorite sounds in the world, came easier, and soon she was back at his side, her thoughts a cheerful stream of chatter that marked the end of his day. And even though she would never want him the way he wanted her, it was enough.

After a lifetime of loving his best friend, the tiny flutter in his chest when he met Raven shocked him. She came over one late night, one of the few people at AI that couldn't seem to care less about who Clarke was. Breezing into their apartment, she felt larger than life as she rifled through their fridge and plopped down on his bed. And that was that, Wells and Clarke becoming Wells, Raven and Clarke.

He tried to ignore the way he longed to see her, or the peace he felt whenever she was around, but soon it grew too big to ignore. They could talk, for hours about music and TV and her favorite differential equation, because her brain consumed information too quickly to not spit it back into the world. And he listened, because he lived for the sound of her voice. It definitely didn't hurt when she draped her legs over his and fit her head in the hollow of his neck.

Still, Wells had more than enough practice taking his unrequited love and forcing it into manageable little bits. So, he took the pieces of Raven he could get, and he welcomed the return of his best friend. And he tried not to let it gut him when he found a job six thousand miles from the two most important girls in his life. His father's pride wasn't worth the loss, and yet, a little more than a year later, he found himself on hour long Skype calls, detailing the life of a corporate finance analyst to two pairs of beaming smiles.

He tried to spend as much time as he could with them, but other than the holidays, it was hard to get to New York from Seattle. Besides, over the past few months, Clarke tried to keep him away. Things were tough at work, and it didn't help that his father had played a role in it. Instead of being the youngest CEO in AI history, she was sidelined and dealing with the pain of that.

So, when he let it drop that his company was doing business with a biotech company that had spent the better part of a year singing her praise, he set something in motion. Raven called him up, screaming of some idea and Santa Clara, and he was more than happy to help if it would finally repair the fractured parts of Clarke. And, with that unspoken invitation, he booked his flight to Santa Clara.

He tried not to let the idea of seeing the girls excite him too much. And then Raven breezed into his room and jumped onto his stomach and that feeling he got, the one that was thick with idiotic ideas like fate, sang through his veins.

If he had to survive on rare days like this, he could. Staring up at Raven as she babbled and giggled and threw herself onto her back, yeah, it could be enough.

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

"Wells," Clarke squealed, hurling herself into the waiting arms of her best friend. Everything he was, warm and solid and safe, engulfed her as spun her, his arms tight around her waist.

"It's been years," he said, his words muffled with his mouth near her neck.

"Didn't think I could face you, not after calling your father a pathetic waste of space, son-of-a-bitch."

"I don't think you said any of that." He set her back on her feet, pulling back long enough to squint at her megawatt smile. "Dear ol' Dad definitely would have mentioned it."

"Oh," her brows knitted together as her bottom lip jutted out into a pout, "well, I would have if I had thought of it at the time."

"Right," he laughed, tugging on a lock of her hair and laughing when she swatted him away. "Where you've been anyway," he glanced down at her wiggling toes, "especially without your shoes?"

"I was heading down to see you, and then I realized I didn't actually have your room number, and instead of taking my cell phone without me, I left it behind with he-who-is-a-royal-pain-in-my-ass, so I went to the lobby which turned into wandering this fancy hotel barefoot because I…" her smile faltered, "I just needed a minute."

"And that minute?"

"Turned into two hours," she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, chewing on her bottom lip before pointing over at his bed. "What's going on there?"

He glanced behind him, at the gentle rise and fall of Raven's chest as she napped. "She talked herself to sleep, it was actually sort of cute."

"Cute, huh?" She parroted, raising an eyebrow before wrapping her fingers around his wrist and tugging him out of the room. "You have something you want to tell me?"

"You're at heightened risk for athlete's foot?" He guessed.

"You've been talking to Raven without me," she rolled her weight into her left hip, staring up at him expectantly.

He leaned back against the wall, keeping his expression impassive. "You do that everyday. You, and Rave, and that scrappy girl from the bar that makes a terrible Long Island Ice Tea after mocking me for a good ten minutes for enjoying a more 'feminine' drink."

"You should have just drank tequila with the rest of us. But you're not exactly calling Octavia on unscheduled Skype days, are you?" She rocked up onto her toes, wearing that teasing smirk that used to make his stomach dip. "You might as well just admit your undying love for her now, it'll save us time."

"I don't love Raven."

"You're in violation of the treaty of Mr. Brenner's ninth grade English."

"I am not."

"You're lying and as such must either buy me dinner or accept an Indian burn."

"We're adults, Clarke."

"Pick."

Raising his arm, he huffed out a sigh. "Do you worst." Her face split into a grin as she twisted his arm, looking triumphant as he winced. "Satisfied?"

"Usually no, but right now is probably the closest I've been. Now, you and Raven."

"How about you and Bellamy?" He countered. "You know how it can be hard to follow Raven when she's going on, but apparently you're staging a coup."

"It's hardly a coup," she scoffed. "But," she inhaled, her smile softening, "we're leaving. All those calls you made, the things you told Raven, it was so that she could leave and take me with her."

"Does this mean…"

"There's a chance we'll be out here." She finished for him. "If Trikru Co. or AzgedaCorp want us. All we need to do is get through this dinner tonight, and everything will change. "

"Well then," he lifted his chin, "you keep from murdering your CEO and I think we can make a west coaster out of you."

"Easier said then done." She patted his chest, brushing past him and into his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Present Day_ **

"How big a tip should I leave to leave to get your number?" Octavia stilled at the pair of warm hands the moved over her waist, setting the cup in her hand down gently before turning.

"There isn't a tip big enough," she simpered, "but I wouldn't object to a raise." Lincoln chuckled, tickling the top of her lip with a wave of cool, minty breath. "Aren't there supposed to be perks to fucking the boss?"

"I'll show you a perk," he murmured, his mouth slanting against hers in a kiss that made her knees quiver. "I missed you."

"And I'm never letting you leave for as long as you did again," she pressed up onto her toes, snaking her arms around his neck and yanking him in closer. "An entire day is a one day way too many."

He pulled back, long enough to memorize the curve of her lips and the length of her lashes and the laughter in her eyes, just like he'd done every day before, just like he would do every day after. "Never change," he hummed, stroking his thumb along her cheek and dropping one last kiss to her lips before stepping back. "You get anymore gorgeous and I may not stand a chance."

She swatted at him with her towel, rolling her eyes. "You keep complimenting me and you definitely won't. Now," she whipped around, resting her hip against the bar and staring up at him impatiently, "tell me all about this meeting."

"It was all dollars and cents, you know Indra's always been better at the money talk than me. But we got it, and I think we'll be able to expand in a few months."

"Really?" Octavia clapped, forgetting to be cool and unaffected and untouchable for a quick moment. "Well, what was the guy like?"

Lincoln felt his smile slip away. "Not exactly the type of guy I would want to go into business with if I'm being honest. It's a good thing no one would ever fuck with Indra, because I'm not sure all the money in the world would make me trust him." He reached around her, plucking at a cherry and popping it into his mouth. "Roan, sort of ridiculous by the way, kept talking about this windfall of cash he was about to come into. Something about a hostile takeover."

Octavia frowned, something about that name ringing familiar as he continued to speak. If she closed her eyes, she could hear an echo of a voice railing against the pompous, arrogant man on the board of a company she couldn't bring herself to care about. She'd been desperate to get off the phone, a surge of anger and sadness stealing her attention, but if there was one thing she couldn't forget, it was a name like Roan.

And then suddenly it hit her.

"Wait," she stumbled forward, slapping a hand down against Lincoln's forearm, "Roan? Like works with my brother, Roan?"

Lincoln startled, watching her with a bemused expression as she grabbed at her phone and scrolled through her contacts. "I guess, what about it?"

"Bell," she growled, her phone pressed to her ear and her legs carrying her along the length of the bar, "look, I know it's been a while since we talked, but I need you to call me back. Okay? Just, as soon as you get this, call me."

"Octavia, what's going on?" Lincoln asked, his hand just hovering over her skin. She darted out of reach, resolved to stay focused, something that his touch, warm and callused, would derail.

"Monty, I don't have time for pleasantries, okay. I don't care about the weather, or the various games or any other random topic you can think of."

Lincoln slid up behind her, straining to hear the other side of the conversation. "You're probably scaring him, O."

"I swear to God, if you don't tell me where my brother is right now, I will storm that glass building of yours and start lobbing boulders, some of which will be attached to your limbs!" She scratched at her forehead, jerking her chin down once before swiping her hands along her jeans and vaulting over the bar. "Text me the address and I promise to keep the threats to a minimum next time."

"Octavia?"

She turned long enough to shoot him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to duck out like this, but I really need to go, okay? I'll call you when I get there."

"Get where?"

"Santa Clara!" She yelled, plowing through the door without a single backwards glance.

* * *

**_Octavia Blake: A History_ **

Bellamy tried. He tried so hard to protect her. And for sixteen years of her life, he did. He was like a gun with a faulty trigger, shooting at anyone he could, even if they meant no harm. So when Bellamy had to choose between his dreams and his sister, Octavia was the first to nudge him towards Harvard. And she was happy to do it, because he was so _smart_. He was dying bit by bit, and piece by piece, living in that tiny room with no one but Octavia to hear the brilliant thoughts churning in his brain, and that job that left his body exhausted but his brain wired.

But she was doing it for herself too. Because without him there as a safety net, maybe she wouldn't feel so tangled up in the person Bellamy expected her to be. Maybe she could actually take a risk, let herself jump and even fall if it meant experiencing something new.

So, she boarded a plane to Arizona, and she embraced this new life. Or at least she tried to. Instead, she was just the new girl in a new school with old, ratty clothes and too much of everything else. She was too loud, too eager, too desperate to be accepted. And the part that killed her was that if Bellamy was there, with his perpetually clenched jaw and sour attitude, at least she wouldn't feel so isolated. Her safety net had become her security blanket, and without Bellamy, without her family and her best friend all wrapped in one, she was lost.

It was why when Murphy Davidson sat across from her in the cafeteria her second month of school, she couldn't see him for what he was. A predator that fed on the loneliness that radiated from her every move. She molded herself into what he would want, perky and sweet and willing, and in return he poked at her self-esteem until she felt it crumble. And it all came together on the night they sat in the back of his truck, listening to crappy music and drinking crappy beer. He knocked her knees apart and told her he loved her and she made herself believe. Even as he hurt her, she figured in a lifetime of having no one and of never being worthy of love, she couldn't let him slip from her fingers. Even as he tucked himself back into his jeans and burped into the cool night air, oblivious to the impossible throb between her legs, she decided that this must just be the beginning of forever. She repeated it again and again, especially when his phone calls became more sporadic, and always late at night.

It was a sweet sort of pain when he found someone just as broken, but easier on the eyes, to spend his nights with. She welcomed her loneliness like an old friend, and counted the seconds until she could see Bellamy again. It was hard, keeping these parts of her world away from him, but she knew her brother. If he figured out how unhappy she was, Harvard and his education would take a backseat to making sure she was coping. And she couldn't do that to the only person who had always put her first.

Still, when she missed her period for the second month in a row and had no where to turn, she decided that it was time. Bellamy would know what she should do, he always did. For one fleeting moment, she had hope that everything would be okay. Then he picked up the phone, only to tell her that he didn't have time to talk. And he didn't bother answering the next time she called, or the time after that. She was running out of options, and her brother was no where to be found.

And that's how she found herself at Planned Parenthood, her arms wrapping around herself as a women in a pair of pink scrubs settled between her legs. She thought it would take longer, but she was sitting at dinner with her senile uncle and aunt, making small talk over mushy peas and cold meatloaf. It was as if everything was the same, that the world kept spinning even though she had paused, this monumental decision hitting the dimmer on her entire life.

But, she was nothing if not resilient. She'd spent the last ten years knowing that you can't trust anyone but yourself, and that wouldn't change just because her exception, Bellamy, had become the rule. She moved back to New York and started her senior year like she knew her brother wanted her to. She applied to universities, and listened to him and his friends try and take an idea formed at a bar and turn it into an actual business. She even helped them come up with the name, after they scrounged up all the cash they could and only come up with a hundred bucks to invest. And with that, The 100 LLC. was born and raised from nothing but Bellamy's hard work and will. She would be proud if it didn't hurt so much.

Their relationship, already deteriorating, couldn't afford any hits. Which was exactly what her decision to not go to school was. He hadn't wanted her to defer, but the thought of starting over somewhere new, of being by herself again, terrified her. She might have hated where she was and hated herself a little just because, but it was better than being alone. His one condition was that she worked, so she found a job in the one place she knew he wouldn't approve of, the bar down from his biggest competitor.

Enter Lincoln.

He'd ignored her during her first couple of weeks, his stare bumping over her even as she broke bottle after bottle of expensive liquor and drove her elbow into a handsy drunk who thought he was entitled to her on the side of his seventh beer. It wasn't until she stormed over to him, arms crossed over her chest and withering glower in place, that he actually met her gaze. And suddenly she forgot why she was upset.

Three weeks in, she decided that if Lincoln wouldn't be making a move, she would have to step up. Bellamy was moving the 100 LLC. to Cincinnati, so she had nothing to lose. Either she got used to the idea of going back to her dingy, empty apartment, or she could channel that idiotic sixteen-year-old girl desperate for risk and do something that could be great.

He was taking out the trash when she walked up behind him and cleared her throat. He turned, mouth hanging open as his forehead crinkled, but before he could speak, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. And even with the stench from the dumpster and the dim, flickering light from the strip club across the street, and the bum she was almost certain was peeing in the back alley, it was the best kiss of her life. Then, because she didn't have that many experiences to compare to, she asked him later that night, burying her triumphant grin into his chest as he agreed.

So, maybe there were a few people that she could trust. Because with Lincoln came Clarke and Raven, the two girls that came in after work every day to gripe and moan and cheer after she matched them shot for shot. For the first time, she didn't need Bellamy, not when she had a sweet boyfriend and funny friends and a place to go after work that wasn't an apartment filled with the echo of her brother.

But, at the end of the day, she couldn't erase her history. Especially not when Bellamy was intent on getting them back to where they were before Arizona and his company. With each begrudgingly answered call and uncomfortable dinner, he chipped at the wall she'd erected between them.

Which was why Octavia had just drained her savings account to buy a ticket to Santa Clara, her brother's voicemail ringing in her ear and energy buzzing all the way down to her fingertips.

Because, fuck, her brother needed help and she'd be damned if she wasn't the one to help him.

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

"You clean up nice," Bellamy murmured, pressing his hand into the small of her back and grinning as someone snapped a picture. "And I'm glad to see you were able to decide on a pair of shoes."

Gliding forward, she stopped for a photo, tilting her chin up and pasting on one last smile before exhaling once they made it past the doors to the ballroom. "You weren't in the room when I came to get ready."

"I had the main desk looking for an extra room, but everything's all booked up." She looked over at him, squaring her shoulders as he waved a waitress over. "So, you're stuck with me for the night." He handed her a glass of champagne, hitting her with the full force of his steely grey eyes and crooked smile. "Hope that doesn't put you out too much, Princess."

"We'll see how I feel three drinks from now." She tapped her glass against his and brought it to her lips, watching surprise bloom in those very eyes that had meant to disarm her. In that moment, she vowed that even though she would be on the arm of the man everyone wanted a piece of, by the end of the night, the only person anyone would remember was her. She had spent her life working towards perfection, and tonight would be her crowning achievement. "Shall we?" She asked, offering him a hand and a dazzling beam. He slipped her hand over his elbow, downing the rest of his champagne with a flick of his wrist.

"Let's do this."

Wells stood to the side of the room, a glass of scotch warming in his palm and Raven's fingers dancing along his arm. "So, who's the first target?"

"Excuse me?"

She bounced forward, taking his scotch and setting it down on the table nearby. "My first target? The reason that we're even here? I need to schmooze and charm and find someone to pay me and Clarke a butt load of money. And I think," she twirled, the skirt of her dress billowing around her knees, "that I have someone in my sights."

Wells followed her gaze, squinting when his eyes landed on Anya Nguyen, the CEO of Trikru Co. that he had come across at many other conferences just like this one. Normally it was boring work protecting the financial interests of businesses such as hers, but for once, it was coming in handy. "She's ruthless, Raven."

"Yeah, well," Raven glanced back at him, a sparkle in her eyes, "she hasn't met me yet."

* * *

**_Raven Reyes:_ _A History_**

Raven didn't believe in self-pity. Sure, there were a few times in her teenage years where she wanted to descend into the abyss of loathing and hatred that other kids called their homes. But she had too much that she wanted to do, to create, for her mind to be caught up in the fact that her nose wasn't as perfect and her stomach wasn't as flat as the popular girls at school. And, as far as she was concerned, the idea that who she was and what happened to her was out of her control, making worrying a colossal waste of time, had helped her get to where she was. She'd graduated from Stanford at the age of eighteen, and her goal, NASA and space, were just within reach.

That was until the car accident.

She didn't remember much from that time. One second she was in the passenger side seat with her boyfriend driving them down the highway, her legs up on the dashboard and the music loud as she played with the windows. The next, the car was upside down and Finn's eyes wouldn't open. She tried to move, but her legs were pinned and her head was throbbing, and all she wanted was to fall asleep. She knew they ended up in the hospital simply because they hadn't died. But it was all hazy, the pain medication dulling the panic that came with Finn's weeping mother and the barrage of doctor's.

Someone went down the ramp the wrong way, they said. They'd been hit at seventy miles an hour, and it was a miracle that they were still alive, they said. Finn had gotten through relatively unscathed, just a concussion that would feel like a terrible hangover. And then the speaking stopped, and even with her muddled brain, she knew something was wrong. With a tongue that felt too heavy to be real, she begged to know what had happened.

And as soon as they'd uttered the words, that along with a ruptured spleen that had needed repairing, they'd had to amputate her leg, she felt those years and years of self-pity that she'd locked away flood forward. She'd gone from being Raven Reyes, girl with two legs, to Raven Reyes, the girl who may never walk properly again. Her dreams, her hard work, _everything_ was gone because of a drunk driver.

There were months of rehab, and even more of therapy. She tried to stay tough, to remember that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. But every time she saw Finn, walking and whole and happy, there was nothing left inside her but a blinding, all-consuming rage. And when she thought of the person who'd stolen everything from her, she could barely breath, let alone remain hopeful.

Funnily enough, it was her prosthetic that started her down the path to where she used to be. It was clunky and awkward, moving in the unnatural way a piece of metal attached to her stub of a leg would. It was the best her insurance could do, and it seemed to kick start the rusted system in her head. She researched every form of prosthetic there was, which immersed her in the world of biotech. When her brain was full and her hands got the itch for creation back, she hobbled up to Finn and slapped a resume down, determined to work at the company that could help her body feel whole again. He worked in the accounting department of Ark Industries and it wasn't like he had much clout there anyway, but he _owed_ her. So he searched for anyone who would look at the piece of paper that in no way listed everything Raven Reyes was. How her eyes would brighten as she listened to him speak, or how she spent the little money she had to get his sister a soccer ball. How she was the smartest person he knew, but that she used her heart almost as much as her mind. And when he finally found that person, he made sure they knew that if they passed on her, they would half to watch as she rose and conquered, and live with that regret.

She ignored the stares her first day on the job. In a pair of shorts and button down, she couldn't exactly trick herself into believing they watched her because of her sparkling personality. Better they knew now then spend the time she could be working trying to hide this part of her life from the world.

After her first month, AI was proving to be the best decision she could have made. Not only because of the work, of the ability to see a problem and search for a solution, or the insurance, which helped her upgrade her junk of a leg to one that both looked and worked like the real deal, but because of Clarke Griffin. She'd only met her once, but she'd seen it there, that spark of anger that she'd felt every second of every day since the accident. It was a rage that few understood, and yet Clarke felt like a war buddy. She walked into Tondc Tavern after Clarke one day, sat beside her, and that was that. Clarke went from a colleague in the administrative department, to a friend, to the closest thing to a sister she'd ever had. And the closer they became, the more she understood the fury Clarke carried. The yearning for approval that had become desolation over the years.

Somewhere along the way, the anger that had fused them together seemed to disappear. The friendship stayed though, and that was all that mattered.

Between Wells, Octavia, and Clarke, she mended. She would never be the Raven Reyes of the pre-accident world, but a part of her felt like she was better. It was one thing to be a fighter, but it was something else entirely to be forged in fire and sharpened by battle.

Now, she didn't care who saw her in the dress that made her feel beautiful. She wasn't one to hide, and she could handle the whispers and the gawks. No, she did care. But only about one person, and he'd never once looked at her like she was broken. And one of these days, Wells Jaha, he would be that last piece of her heart that slotted into place.

But for right now, she had to be brilliant, and that was a challenge she never shied away from.

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

"Dance with me."

Clarke glanced down at the hand that slid along her waist before swinging her gaze up to Bellamy's. "I don't dance."

"Somehow I doubt that's true," he inched closer to the dance floor, and he felt the moment she gave in, her steps reluctant as she followed after him. "See, this isn't that bad."

"I haven't stepped on your feet yet." Clarke let him take her hand, dropping the other one onto his shoulder and beginning the shuffle and sway that she'd mastered after five proms and seven weddings.

"I didn't mean the dancing, although I have to take points for lack of creativity," he tugged her in closer. "You should see my foxtrot, it's the thing of dreams."

"You were trying to make a point, Bellamy," she sighed, her breath tickling the side of his neck.

"I just meant, this conference," he turned them in a circle, edging them closer and closer to the center of the dance floor. "Skipped all the boring talks, the food is somewhat edible, and I don't make for terrible company."

"It could've been worse," she sniffed, "at least no one's hit on me."

"The night's still young." A surprised squeak escaped through her lips as he dipped her, tilting her world for a few precious seconds before setting her back upright. "I say you how nice you look yet?"

"About five times, yes," she replied, trying to sound normal as she caught her breath.

"Well," he pulled back, just enough for his eyes to find hers, "you do. I'd say you're the most beautiful woman in here, but Reyes will probably hear, and I'll never get another second of peace."

"It won't work on me," she murmured, so low that he had to bend to hear her. "The compliments, the flirty charm, I know better." He swallowed, a rough motion that she tracked with that unimpressed stare of hers. "I don't trust you, and one dance isn't going to change that." Her cheeks stung from the strain of her practiced smiles and she was so tired. If there was one person she wouldn't put on a show for, it was him.

"You think that surprises me?" She stilled, caught off guard by that raw bit of emotion in his voice. It was so vulnerable, hurt masquerading as acceptance. "Come on, Clarke, you're not that hard to read."

"You shouldn't have to read me, it should be obvious. You've spent the last six months making my life miserable," his hand flexed around her waist, reminding her to move. "After making a complete fool of me before you even started at AI."

"I'm not talking about the last six months and you know it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips brushed against her ear, sending a shiver raking through her body. "You were wearing a blue shirt that fell over your shoulder no matter how many times you messed with it, and your hair was shorter. I remember you were reading, something foreign and intelligent, and I wanted to talk to you about it." She blinked, throat constricting as the memory flashed behind her eyes. "All I wanted to do was talk to you, about anything, about everything, it didn't matter. But your family, they didn't let you speak, and by the time the dinner was over, you had nothing to say to me."

She could still feel it, the rage that came with the pride that had shone in her father's eyes when he clapped his hand down on the shoulder of some stranger he brought into their home. He'd never looked at her like that, not once in sixteen years, and ten years later, she was still waiting for the approval that would never come.

"This was never about the job and you know it," he murmured, "although for what it's worth, I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, not at dinner, not at the bar that night, never."

"Why are you telling me this?" She stepped away, fighting against the flush creeping up the back of her neck. "Why now?"

His face softened, long enough for her to see everything she never wanted to know. "Maybe I'm just tired of you looking at me like that," he shrugged. "Maybe I don't want to be your enemy."

She licked at her lips, her thoughts frantic and incoherent. Because, no. He didn't get to do this, not when she had an escape route. Not when she could finally get away from the great Bellamy Blake and everything he stood for. The crushing pressure in her chest when she thought of her parents. The painful voice that was always with her, that taunted her with the fact that no matter what she did, no matter how much she fought, she would always lose, it was all wrapped up in the man standing in front of her.

"Clarke," he reached for her, his face falling as she stumbled back.

"Don't,' she said, shoving down the nausea pooling in her stomach. "Okay, just don't. You're drunk and – "

"Clarke?" Everything drained from her. Her anger and her confusion, it all leaked out at the sound of that voice. Her eyes shuttered close and even though she'd stopped believing in God and miracles a long time ago, she prayed for one. She prayed harder and with more passion than she ever had, because she knew herself. There was only so much she could take, and she was reaching her breaking point.

"Princess?" Bellamy said, his face a mask of concern. Ignoring him, she whipped around, a bitter chuckle escaping before she could stop it. Because miracles didn't happen, not to people like her.

"Lexa," she nodded, her gaze sweeping over the only person she'd ever truly loved. "I didn't realize you'd be here." Lexa gave her a tight smile, her arms stiff at her side as she leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Clarke's cheek.

"I have a talk tomorrow, for Grounder Tech," she explained, pretending not to notice the way Clarke's fingers trembled. "I thought it might be nice to come and mingle. It's not often that we all get together, so…"

"Of course," Clarke said, startling when a shoulder bumped into hers. "Oh, um, this is Bellamy Blake."

"I've heard a lot about you," Lexa offered him her hand.

"Funny, haven't heard anything about you," he replied, his stare unwavering as she slowly pulled her hand back to her side.

"Right," she sighed, "well, I've taken up enough of your time." She looked back at over at Clarke, her shoulders slumping slightly when the other woman stared just past her. "Enjoy the rest of your night." Clarke and Bellamy watched as Lexa turned and walked over to a group of women, a peal of laughter floating through the air as she slipped her arm around the waist of the pretty brunette with the glistening smile.

And that, that was the last straw.

"I have to get out of here," she whispered, just low enough for only Bellamy to hear. She didn't wait for a reply, grabbing fistfuls of her dress and running to the door as quickly as her heels would allow. She made it as far as the elevator bank before she heard her name.

"Clarke," Bellamy breathed, slowing as tears sprang into her eyes.

"Fine," she exclaimed, throwing her arms out to the side, "you win. I'm done, with this conference, with AI, with all of it. You can have my job and my family, I don't want either of them."

"Clarke – "

She shook her head, the tears gone as she hardened. And then there she was, the impenetrable ice princess, the girl he'd spent so long trying to reach only to fall short time and time again. "I'm finished talking."

They rode up to their room in silence, Bellamy trying not to watch her and failing. Clarke trying not to care and failing. All they did was fail.

She didn't speak as he let them into the room, kicking her shoes off and going into the bathroom. He stood by the island, unsure of what to do, or how he could have messed this up so terribly. The one chance that hadn't actually been a chance at all had done nothing but cause her pain. But there was nothing he could do about it, not when she padded out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, or she slipped underneath the covers on the bed.

"I guess I'll sleep on the couch," he said from the door, his voice careful as she stared owlishly at him from her perch on the pillows.

"Couch, bed, floor, I don't really give a shit," she said, looking as tired as she sounded. "Just turn the lights off." He frowned, unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as he could and pushing off his pants. Soon, he stood there, in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt, a decision to be made.

She didn't move as he pulled the covers back and laid beside her. He thought that maybe she'd fallen asleep, until the bed shuddered and he heard a sniffle.

* * *

**_Clarke Griffin: A History_ **

"I was an art history major my freshman year." She said, her words hesitant as she spoke into the pitch blackness that surrounded them. "Sophomore year too. I was getting my pre-med requirements in, but for half of my college career I was an art history major. And then my father got sick."

She remembered the call, the fear in her mother's voice as she told Clarke about her father. Cancer. Abby didn't offer up any other specifics, and Clarke didn't ask. All she knew was that her father's body had betrayed him, and that he might die. She caught the next flight out, arriving home two days after the diagnosis. Her mother had burst into tears as she walked into their house, and right then, she'd known that she made the right decision. That is until she saw her father. When she asked what she could do to help, all he'd wanted to discuss was his legacy. Who would oversee AI if he died? Who would take care of her mother, as if Abby hadn't spent the last twenty years building her reputation as a world renowned surgeon. And what would become of his only daughter, who had spent the last two years wasting her college education?

"The day I got back, I applied for a transfer into the business school."

It had killed her, the mind-numbing classes and the overwhelming amount of work as she tried to play catch up. But she knew who she was doing this for, and that knowledge made it just a little bit easier. After graduation, her father gave her a job at AI, and it felt like the first time that he'd really looked at her and decided he liked what he saw.

"And it helped that he wasn't getting worse. The surgeries and the chemo, they were working and he was in remission. Now, it wasn't about leaving the company to someone after he was gone. It was me proving that he could trust me with the thing he valued most. One day, AI would be mine, and he needed to know I could handle that."

It was grueling work, but it helped having friends. Two other people started at the same time, interns that were just as rundown and exhausted as she was, who felt the same impulse for perfection. Finn stayed up just as late as she did, bringing in coffee and making her laugh even as her eyes drooped close and her head nodded forward.

And then there was Lexa…

"She was," Clarke stopped, listening to the sound of Bellamy breathing as she tried to find the words. "She was indescribable."

Clarke was never really interested in relationships. She hadn't felt the need in high school, and hadn't had the time in college. But if she could pinpoint the worst time in her life to begin entertaining the idea of a relationship, it was as an overworked, underappreciated AI underling. Still, there was something about Lexa. The way you had to work to earn a smile, or how her eyes, the sharpest hazel she'd ever seen, could cut right threw you. Or maybe it was the fact that the only person Lexa softened around was her. It was impossible to hide when she was with Lexa, and more and more she found herself not wanting to.

It wasn't until two o'clock in the morning on a Monday though that anything changed. Both tired and sore, Lexa offered to massage the knot out of Clarke's neck. If her soft fingers rubbing against the tensed muscle set Clarke on edge, the feel of Lexa's lips against her skin nearly made her combust.

They agreed it would only be something casual, a way to relieve the stress and frustration of the job that was consuming most of their lives, but that didn't stop Clarke from falling.

"I loved her before I even realized what love was. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, could only think of her. And I thought she felt the same."

When her father's cancer returned, with a strength that had even the most competent doctors worried, it was Lexa that Clarke turned to. Even though she knew that no one in the company could know of how ill he was, Clarke spent hours pouring her heart out, every negative feeling and scary moment spilled out across Lexa's dining room table for her to see. And instead of shying away, Lexa had held her as she cried. She went into work the next day feeling, not hopeful, but better. Clean in a way that she'd never been before. Until she saw her father being escorted out of the building by security.

"I don't know how she worked so quickly. She got the information about my father to Finn, and the two of them came up with a plan. Lexa took it Grounder Tech in exchange for an office and a fancy title. And Finn leveraged it to Thelonious Jaha, the man that hired you, to get a promotion." She blinked against the sting in her eyes, tears sliding down her cheek and wetting her pillow. "They said it would be bad for business, having a dying man stay on as CEO, but they'd wanted him gone for a while. Lexa just gave them the perfect excuse."

Clarke had raced over to Lexa's place, desperate for answers to the questions racing through her mind. Like how _could_ she? Or that maybe this was a terrible, horrible mistake? Because there was no way her girlfriend had convinced one of her closest friends to betray her.

"But her apartment was empty. Grounder Tech wanted her to start as soon as possible, so she left. Without an explanation, or an apology, or a goodbye." She dragged an arm across her damp cheeks. "I lost her and my parents all in one day. And a part of me, a big part, thought I deserved what happened. That I opened myself up and Lexa left because she saw what was inside and hated it.'

"Clarke – " Bellamy turned onto his side, and she found herself doing the same, even though she couldn't stand to see the pity shining in his eyes.

"I don't trust you," she said, the bed shifting as he moved in closer.

"You've mentioned."

"I can't," she slid her hand underneath her head, watching the shadows play across his face as he grimaced. "But…"

His eyes flashed open, and there was a man in there that she'd run from since she was a kid. One who was smarter than he had the right to be, and dangerously funny, and surprisingly loyal even when she'd done nothing to earn it.

"For what it's worth, I owe you an apology." Suspicion warred with hope, the both slamming against his chest as she blinked up at him. "If all I've ever wanted from my parents, and from Lexa, God, from everybody, was a chance, I'm sorry I never gave you one. But it's not like you made it easy for me, and I need to know why. So talk."

"Wait, what?"

"My trust isn't easily earned, especially when I don't understand why it felt like all you've wanted was to humiliate me all this time. So, explain. And then tomorrow, maybe it doesn't have to go back to how it was." She swiped at the last tear that she would let herself shed tonight, and, with the one person she'd thought she hated more than anyone in the world at her side, she burrowed deep inside of her, and let go. Of the doubt, and self-loathing, and anger that had weighed her down for so long. Some of it was still there, she was a fucking pragmatist who knew hew problems wouldn't disappear because of one tearful confession and two too many glasses of champagne. But the bit that ached to make Bellamy the villain in her story, it quieted down as he began to speak.

And talk he did, about his family and his dreams and his fears that seemed so similar to hers it was scary. Even when his throat dried up and his jaw tightened, he weaved words into sentences that became a beautifully tragic monologue, painting his history with Clarke becoming one of its most vibrant colors. When he couldn't think of something say, he let her fill in the gaps, asking all the questions he'd been storing since he was an idiotic nineteen-year-old staring at a cute girl. Because he was never one to waste an opportunity, and Clarke lying there with a hint of a smile curled on her lips and eyes still just as defiant, if not a bit watery, was the greatest opportunity he could ask for.

And when they both were too tired to keep their eyes opened, the early morning sun streaming in pink from the curtains, Clarke noticed his arms around her waist and his chin against her forehead, and she didn't mind. She might even have moved in closer, although she would never admit it. Because this night, from start to finish, was an anomaly. At least, that's what she swore to herself when he slid down, his mouth hovering over hers. Normal Clarke would never had closed the space between them, her lips warm as they pressed against his, each movement tentative and searching.

Still, maybe Clarke was tired of her normal. Maybe she needed a little strange.

* * *

**_Present Day: An Ever Changing History_ **

"Wake up," Wells squeezed his eyes shut, throwing an arm over his face and stifling a groan. "Wells," Raven huffed, taking a pillow and slamming it down on his stomach, "come on. You've been comatose for hours."

"I've been _sleeping_ for an hour, singular," he grunted, pushing himself up and quirking an eyebrow up at a sleep-mussed Raven Reyes, her hair a tousled mess and a yawn stretching her lips into an O. "Someone kept me up."

She bounced up onto the bed beside him, tucking her knees underneath her and fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt. Wait, _his_ shirt.

"Oh," she glanced down, "I hope you don't mind. It was more comfortable than anything I packed." She grinned. "Anyway, do you think Clarke's up yet? Because she's going to freak when she hears Anya's offer. This is better than anything we could have hoped for."

He shook his head, chasing away the lingering thoughts of Raven in his shirt that had led to images of Raven out of it. "You want to talk about Clarke right now?"

"You got any better ideas?" She shot back, immediately blanching as she realized what she said. "I mean…not that there's anything to talk about." She slid to the edge of the bed, making sure her leg was on right before standing.

"Raven," something in his voice made her still, "what are we doing?" Last night, it had been different than most days between them. He could spend days laughing with Raven like they had at the dinner, but then she'd taken his hand in the elevator, and suddenly he couldn't for the life of him remember what was funny. He knew how he felt, but when Raven has fit herself against him and fallen asleep, for a second, he thought that maybe it wasn't as one sided as he assumed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he got to his feet, walking over to her and crouching down, "you're not dumb, which means you must know I'm crazy about you, and – " His eyes widened as she surged forward, her lips pressing against his in a kiss as wild, and messy, and surprising as she was. She moved back, her expression terrified before it split into a grin.

"I do now," she breathed, "and we'll figure everything out, I swear. But I made a promise to Clarke, and I need finish it."

"Then let's find Clarke," Wells replied, slightly dazed, "and then come right back here."

**_…_ **

"Why. Didn't. You. Answer. My. Calls," Octavia slapped at her brother's chest, ignoring the dazed look on his face as she let herself into his room. "Do you know what I had to do to get here? And you owe me eight hundred dollars, by the way." She whipped around, swallowing back a groan as he stared owlishly over at her. "God, Bell, wrecked much?"

"I'm not drunk, O, I'm confused." He pushed the hair from his forehead. "What are you doing here?"

"If you had listened to any of my voicemails or replied to any one my texts, you would know that things are shit, Bell."

"What?" He went over to the couch and sat, his expression a mix of bemusement and impatience. "You're talking in riddles."

"That douche you've been complaining about, Roan or whatever," Octavia strode over to her brother and frowned down at him, "he's Lincoln's new investor."

"So?"

Octavia growled, wondering how her brainiac of a brother could be so _dense_. "So, he could only afford to invest the amounts that Indra and Lincoln asked for because he said that he's got money coming in! And unless hostile takeover suddenly means something completely different than all those episodes of The Apprentice I watched, then you need to do something."

"Hostile takeover," he muttered, his hands clasped in front of him and his thoughts racing. He knew the board hadn't exactly been pleased with Jaha for looking outside the company for their next CEO, but this didn't make sense.

"Octavia?" Both Blake siblings turned at the sound of Clarke's voice, staring at her she pulled at the sleeve of shirt.

"Now this I was not expecting," Octavia mumbled. "I thought you two hated each other?"

"It's complicated," Bellamy said distractedly, standing and going over to Clarke. "Hey," he said quietly, his hand resting against her elbow and his smile uncertain.

"Hi," she breathed, the corners of her eyes crinkling at Bellamy's relieved sigh. So he hadn't dreamed up the night before. It had been real, and the Clarke standing here, the one with the swollen lips that leaned into his touch, she was real. "What's going on?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she nodded, sucking a quick breath before stepping back. He frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he really took her in. The sadness in the curve of her shoulder, the apology radiating in her gaze. The suitcases resting at her feet. "Clarke…"

"I'm leaving," she said, getting it out before he could ask her to stay.

"Okay, I'll come with you," he offered, desperate to keep her there. "We'll grab Raven, skip the surf and turf lunch."

"No," she shook her head, "I'm leaving AI." He thought he knew pain, thought he'd gotten good at hurting, but this was something new. "Listening to Raven everyday, and you last night, it made me realize how much time I've wasted. I've been trapped in this one place, and I've been screaming for help, but I wasn't willing to help myself. And now, I can't have someone else save me, not you or Raven." She reached down, picking her bag up and willing him to understand. "So, I'm going to my parents' house, and I'm going to let them know that AI is in safe hands." With one last shaky exhale, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And then I'm going to ask Wells if I can stay with him for a little bit. But when I'm back in New York, it wouldn't be terrible to hear from you."

He felt his knees buckle, but he wouldn't fall. If he did, he didn't know how he would pick himself back up. "Clarke, please."

She walked over to Octavia, throwing her arm around her friend's shoulders.

"You sure about this?"

Clarke moved back with a shrug. "Were you?" Octavia pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, drawing Clarke back in for a hug that ended too soon. "I'll be around," Clarke promised.

"You better be, or I may have to kick your ass."

Clarke laughed, giving Octavia one last smile before taking her bags and going over to the door. She didn't know how she would break the news to Raven, or if her friend would ever forgive her, but she needed to do this. After Bellamy had fallen asleep, she'd laid there and thought. Of a young Bellamy forced to grow up too quickly finding the passion that saved him. Of Raven who saw the life she'd always wanted end, just to get back up and create something new and beautiful. Even of Octavia, who hid all the hurt Clarke knew was buried deep down with an unyielding amount of love and a fearlessness that Clarke envied. They'd found ways around their pain, and Clarke was done living with hers.

She set her key card down on the island as she passed, promising herself not to look back. But, because some promises were meant to be broken, she turned around. And smiled. Because Bellamy, with those laughing brown eyes that seemed so destroyed, needed it, needed her. And the tiny ache in her heart urging her back to her made her think that maybe she needed him too. It wouldn't be perfect, not by a long shot, and maybe it wouldn't be for forever, but she was leaving a piece of herself with him, and she would be back to collect.

"One day," she whispered, a prayer that she could believe in.

And then she shut the door.

"Bell?" Octavia touched her brother's arm, trying not to gasp when he turned and tugged her into his arms. She balled her fists, trying to remember the last time Bellamy had hugged her. And finally, when she couldn't stand to be this close to him and yet still so far, the wall crumbled and she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest and breathing him in. Even after all this time, and all the shit, he still felt like _home_.

"Wanna help me take down some fuckers?" He asked, his voice muffled in her hair. She untangled herself from him, eyes narrowing and a smile alighting on her face. He watched her, tucking the pain in his chest away for later, and grinned.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she lifted her chin. "I thought you'd never ask." She nodded to the door, reaching up to mess with his hair. "Let's watch the world burn."


End file.
